


Weird Things in My Head

by EnsorcelledReader



Category: Original Work
Genre: Body Horror, Clowns, Gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 19:57:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6673528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnsorcelledReader/pseuds/EnsorcelledReader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is just a place to dump weird things I write. I don't expect anyone to read this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weird Things in My Head

**Author's Note:**

> I think I wrote this because I had a really anxiety inducing day and kind of feel like shit. Like something triggered in me and I'm trying to keep shit together because I know I'm totally over-reacting, but it's hard.

Disembodied howls fill your ears, darkness surrounds you. You don’t exist, you feel everything, it doesn’t matter. Things are crawling up your body and in your hair, pulling, twisting, breaking. It hurts, they crawl over your empty eyes, burying deep within you. You scream a voiceless cry of agony, no one to help. No one cares.

Laughter, your own?

Tiny cuts decorate your swollen rotten flesh as you mouth fills with the taste of blood and bitter tears. Mites are under your skin riding those pretty blue veins. Invading you mind, eating you brain. You feel every little nibble.

The ground squishes underneath you, foul smells fill the air. Putrid corpses of your brethren, the mass of souls once pretty and singular driven into a heap of disgusting human want. Human need for its own decaying connection that only serves to facilitate its own demise.

Death becomes you, doesn’t it?

An upheaval leave you and your twisted limbs on concrete floor, broken, unmoving. Not dead, you lay there writhing and groaning. The children are scared, mothers distract them.

Others are staring and gawking at you, some give looks of pity.

Blackness oozes from your sores and your very being, the people flee.

The sun shines down on your broken form to expose you further. Nothing is sacred, nothing is yours.

It’s bright. Too bright. Some merciful soul places a blanket over you, scoops you up, and drops you unceremoniously somewhere, all you see is blue.

People are stepping on you, footsteps everywhere. And a great _THUMP THUMP THUMP_

They’re scared again. _THUMP THUMP THUMP_

The bugs are eating your flesh, oozing puss from your eyes and mouth.

What a lovely day.

_THUMP THUMP THUMP_

And all is black.

 

You wake up in your bed, sitting up, sobbing or laughing, they aren’t really that different are they? Your arms wrap around you, a whispered voice “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.” It’s yours. Scratching your already raw arms and flopping back into bed. See the trusty clown in the one corner, your skin in the other. It’s okay. You can sleep.

 


End file.
